Page 26 of Patch's Bride
When we finish, we head out to the parking lot. Outside, there is still a chill in the air. The bike waits in one of the front parking spots. My eyes light up when I see my Harley. It’s black with loads of chrome flashing trim, she’s truly beautiful. I swing my leg over, the motion as natural as breathing. I pull the spare helmet from the saddlebag and hold it out for Beth. She takes it, her fingers brushing mine.
I get settled before glancing back at her. “We need to get moving.”
She hesitates, biting her lip. Then she steps closer, because she clearly has something to say. “Patch, can I tell you something before we leave?”
Her tone is humble and contrite. It makes me pause. “Go ahead. Say what you’ve got to say.”
“The first day I rode with you, I lied to you.”
A sick feeling stirs in my gut. “You didn’t really want to ride with me, did you?”
“It wasn’t that. I told you I wanted to ride on your bike just to make our marriage look real.”
“Yeah.” My chest tightens at the memory. Her words stung more than they should have. It felt like she was reducing something almost sacred to me to a prop.
Her voice drops lower. “That wasn’t the truth.”
I turn towards her, waiting for her to finish her explanation.
She takes a breath and pushes the words out. “I always wanted to ride with you, ever since I was little. I used to watch you ride around on your big Harley before I even knew what one was. And it just… looked exciting and daring. I wanted to know what that felt like—to ride free like you did. I just didn’t have the nerve to ask and honestly didn’t think you’d take the time to give me a short ride on your bike. I guess I always had a bit of a crush on you.”
Her words shock me because I never once thought she felt that way. I’d told myself she climbed on that day out of necessity, to play the part, to sell the relationship. Now she’s standing here admitting it was something she always wanted—something she dreamed of for years. It was a lot to take in.
“Beth,” I start, but she shakes her head firmly, jerking her helmet on.
“I’m not saying it to make things weird. I just wanted you to know. This isn’t fake to me.”
A short silence spins about between us. I reach out to slowly pull her visor down, and watch as she settles onto the back of my bike.
Without looking back, I tell her, “This life isn’t a game. Ridin’ on the back of a brother’s bike while wearing his cut means just as much as a gold wedding band and vows. When you’re on the back of my bike, you hold on and don’t let go, no matter what.”
Her voice comes through the helmet, small but firm. “I will.”
I nod, my throat tight, and rev the engine. I can feel the vibrations of the bike moving up my legs and through my bones. Her hold tightens, and she presses her chest against my back, all softness and vulnerability. When she rests her cheek between my shoulder blades, I twist the throttle, pull us into the street, and head for Sunnybrook.
Wind whips past, pulling at my cut, and I can feel it tapping against her helmet. The sound of the bike’s engine drowns out everything except the realization that my woman respects the code that me and the other brothers live by. Knowing that makes me resent the idea of turning her over to some ignorant asshole with no particular code to live by.
She said she always wanted this and that riding with me wasn’t part of selling the relationship. The truth of her words seeps deeper in my mind with every mile. When I lean into a curve, she leans with me, with no hesitation.
***
Sunnybrook sits back off the highway, tucked between a row of trees and a low brick wall. It looks more like a medical facility than a care home. I quickly take in all the details that matter. There are wide ramps, reinforced railings, automatic doors, clean landscaping. There is no trash, graffiti, or neglect. Judging by the outside, they run this as a quality facility.
Beth shifts nervously behind me when I cut the engine. Her hands loosen at my waist, but her fingers linger like she doesn’t want to let go. When I pull off my helmet, she’s already tugginghers off. I try not to notice how her hair tumbles around her shoulders.
“You ready to talk to your sister?” I ask.
She nods, looking wary. “It’s been weeks since I last saw her, too long.”
We head inside together. The lobby is bright with sun shining through tall windows. A nurse working behind the desk looks up, recognition lighting up her expression when she sees Beth. “Lila will be glad you came. She’s been asking for you.”
I wrap one arm around Beth’s waist, and we follow the nurse down the hall. The walls are lined with photos of outings—them at the beach, at a baseball game, happily crafting at a long table. It gives the place a homey feel, even though it’s clear that the residents have complex needs. Clearly, this place deserves its fine reputation. The residents have good lives and activities, even when dealing with serious illnesses.
Lila’s room is near the end. The door is open, and she’s sitting up on a loveseat with a book propped on her knees. An oxygen tube runs from her nose to a tank beside her. When she looks up, I see her face is pale, but her eyes are bright and sharp. She looks a little like Beth, but she’s much smaller. I’m guessing if she’s been sick since childhood, it’s probably had some effect on her growth. It’s good to see she’s not overmedicated. The grin that breaks over her face damn near knocks the breath out of Beth.
“Bethy!” When she speaks, her voice is raspy but strong. She tosses the book aside and holds her arms out.
Beth rushes in, folding her up in a hug, careful not to disturb the tubing. I hang back a moment, just watching the sisters interact. You can see the bond in the way Beth clings, in the wayLila’s eyes close like she’s finally gotten a visit from her favorite person.
